Page:The Toll of the Bush.pdf/124

sets, and went slowly up the hill to his interrupted work.

The tuis had stopped singing in deference to his majesty the Mid-day Sun, but the little riro-riro who haunts the shadowy places in company with the fantail, popped out with a little silvery congratulation as Lena ran past.

‘Thank you, you darling,’ she said; ‘but I can’t stop to talk about it now.’

The fantail, perched on a supple-jack spanning the track, spread out his tail and made a dozen little grotesque bows and as many hittle rasping remarks, all with the kindest intentions.

‘Oh, you funny little dear!’ Lena said. ‘I love you. I love every one and everything. And the world is just sweet.’

‘Sweet—sweet—sweet—swe-e-t!’ said the shining cuckoos in crescendo on the skirts of the bush.

Then Lena looked down on the house with the kerosene-tin roof which was her home, and saw her mother standing moodily at the door and her father gesticulating apologies at the slip-rail.

It was only a chapter from the past. She had seen it all before. The nightmare of his coming, the relief that followed his going; how well she remembered them. But now, somehow, she saw it all with different eyes. That was her mother in the doorway—that listless, untidy woman with the resentful eyes. Her mother! Oh, poor thing!

Her father turned at the sound of her approach, and looked at her curiously out of his bloodshot eyes. ‘Vy, it’s Lena,’ he said at last in surprise.

‘Yes, father,’ said Lena gently; ‘it’s me.’